Three Strikes

by Lucy Christopher

  ‘Thanks,’ Sol replied, watching her climb. When she was level with him she jumped up onto the branch opposite him and sat on it, swinging her legs with practised ease either side of the arm of the big thick wellington tree. His eyes widened as he watched her moving around the tree without a care. Sol took one of his hands off the tree and tried to copy her casual movements as she interrogated him.

  ‘Where are you from? Why’ve you moved? Is that your house there? That’s old Mr Hans’ house. He died in there. Probably in your bedroom. Make sure you sleep with a torch tonight, just in case. Ghosts are with us everywhere.’

  ‘How do you know which room he died in?’ Sol asked, unconvinced.

  ‘Because I used to go there. I dropped stuff off my mum made him: bread and that. Anyway, one day when I was leaving cakes and milk there was no answer at the door…’ She paused to see if she had Sol’s full attention. She did.

  ‘I went round the back and put my hands up to the windows, like this.’ Nia cupped her hands, wobbling slightly on the branch as she demonstrated to Sol. His eyes widened again.

  ‘And then I saw him. Lying there in his bed. He was asleep though, not dead, cos when I tapped on the window he sat up in bed and shouted at me.’

  ‘Was that the green back bedroom then?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Ha! Well my bedroom is blue, so there. Can’t be his and so I can’t be haunted. Anyway, I don’t believe in ghosts.’

  ‘Well … if you’re sure. I mean, if you don’t believe in ghosts, it won’t matter if your parents had the room painted, before you moved in.’

  ‘That’s my mum.’ Sol pointed down at a woman in a headscarf and dungarees, her black hair coerced into braids that threatened to burst out at every opportunity.

  ‘I know, I saw her at the post office; my mum was talking to her. They’re going for coffee tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, OK. Well, I’ve got two cats.’

  ‘I know. I can see them in their cages.’ Nia pointed down at the cage a man was carrying into the house.

  ‘But I haven’t got any brothers or sisters.’ Sol struggled to tell her something she didn’t already know.

  ‘Oh. Me neither. Snap!’ said Nia, surprised. ‘Everyone in my class has got a brother or a sister; some of them even have more than one. Clara, she’s nice but she has three older sisters; they’re not nice. Three! Poor Clara.’

  ‘Do you want one, a brother or a sister?’ Sol asked as they watched his parents traipsing back and forth emptying the truck full of boxes and cartons.

  ‘Nope, don’t need anyone following me about, taking my stuff, being a pain. No, thank you!’ Nia visualised her carved animals being battered and broken by a little brother or having to hide her new hook knife from an inquisitive younger sister. No, thank you!

  ‘Are you going to be at school on Monday?’ Nia asked, eyeing Sol’s watch.

  ‘Yes, I think so. Why?’ He wasn’t sure what to make of this tree-climbing girl who seemed to know everything about everyone.

  ‘Give me your watch and I’ll borrow it from you ’til then.’ Nia held her hand out. Sol’s watch was small and shiny with a cream face and black hands. Nia didn’t have a watch, just a few friendship bands covering her wrist.

  ‘Why should I?’ Sol’s hand hovered over the catch on the watchstrap.

  ‘I’ll be your best friend and … I’ll call for you on the way to school. You’ll only get lost otherwise. I know all the best shortcuts.’

  ‘OK.’ Sol wasn’t quite sure how this deal was going to benefit him but he slipped off the watch and held it out to Nia. She shuffled across the branch of the tree towards him, took the watch and put it on. Then she tipped backwards, swung her ankles over the branch and dropped, hanging upside down like a monkey.

  ‘Don’t! You’ll fall! Please? Get back up, quick!’ Sol searched for his parents below but they were inside the house now and the gardens and the edges of the wood were empty. It was just him and the upside-down girl.

  ‘I won’t fall. I’ve done this loads of times before. You should try it!’ Her voice sounded odd coming from such a strange angle. She swung herself outwards and tilted her head, taking in his eyes and the fear in them. Nia swung once, twice, three times and then let go, jumping down.

  ‘See, it’s not as far as it looks.’

  ‘OK.’ Sol stayed where he was.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll climb to the top next time! See you tomorrow!’ she shouted over her shoulder as she ran past his new house and off into the trees, wearing his watch.

  Sol wondered if he’d see her again. He hoped so, if only to get his watch back. He waited until she was out of sight and climbed back down the tree, taking his time with each step. He vowed the next time he saw her he’d be a better climber, even better than she was. Once on the ground, he took a deep breath, then turned and began the climb again, determination written all over his sweaty face.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Can you play my tune, singing lady?’ the little boy asked again, tapping Nia impatiently on her arm.

  ‘Be patient, Anders. Give her a chance.’ His father smiled apologetically at Nia.

  ‘He’s excited about New Year, we all are!’ He placed both his hands on his son’s shoulders, pulled him backwards and in towards his body.

  ‘Sorry! What song would you like me to play?’

  ‘Jingle bells please. I did put my coin in there for my tune. Look, there it is!’ He shook his father off and came closer to point out a chunky golden coin in her case, as if she needed proof of his payment. Nia nodded, hiding her distaste at his song choice. She launched into her own version, trying to make the request less painful. The boy clapped his gloved hands enthusiastically.

  By 12 noon, Nia’s guitar case was filling. She’d have more than enough for a return train ticket and a hostel too, if she needed it. She had to be prepared, able to say, ‘Don’t worry about me, I can look after myself,’ if there wasn’t room for her. She packed her guitar away, picked up her bag of clothes and went inside to find Sol.

  ‘I’m sold out. Oh, and I nearly sold that big spoon for you. I think she’ll come back for it later. You’ve still got another box to sell. Should shift those easily this afternoon.’ He handed over some folded notes and she tucked the money away in the secret lining of her guitar case.

  ‘Thanks. Want to go into town for lunch?’ Nia asked, shoving her bag and guitar under the table. ‘Caleb, will you watch my stuff for me please?’

  They bought pasties, iced buns and more hot chocolates from their favourite café, Nannis. Nia sat down on one of the benches in the market square outside St Oswald’s church while Sol hovered in front of her.

  ‘Are you sure you want to eat here?’ he asked nervously.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because … ah, well, you know why, Nia. Come off it, I can hear them rehearsing in the church already. I don’t know why you’d want to make it harder on yourself?’ He sat down reluctantly.

  ‘I know, I know, but I can’t help it. Anyway, I’ve told you, I’m not staying here. I’m going with them.’

  ‘How are you going to go with them? There’s no room for you, remember? They’ve given your place away. You can’t just turn up. They’ll call your dad. I’m telling you, this is a bad idea.’

  ‘It’s not a bad idea, it’s simple. Look, if I turn up at the Hofkirche in my uniform ready to sing, they’re not going to turn me away, are they? Where would I go? They can’t just turf me out of the church into the night. And once it’s over, they can call my dad all they like because it’ll be too late.’

  ‘I’m not saying anything, Nia, just … don’t do this.’ Sol shooed a pigeon away with the toe of his boot.

  ‘And all I’m saying, Sol, is that I’m catching that train. That’s all. You make it sound like I’m going to the other side of the world.’

  ‘Yeah, just a train to Innsbruck. On your own. At night. Without the rest of the choir. And then what, Nia? You’ll just find yo
ur way to the church even though you’ve never been there before?’

  ‘I have! I’ve been there to hear Mum, I know the way. I’m not six, Sol. I can work out a train timetable, and I’ve got Google maps on my phone.’

  ‘You don’t even have your phone on half the time! I bet it’s flat and you’ve forgotten your charger!’

  ‘Oh, just shut up, Sol. Eat your lunch.’

  They carried on eating in a silence that Sol eventually broke with a rush of words. ‘If you’re really doing this, Nia, if you’re really going to Innsbruck tonight, then you should know something first.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Isa is singing your solo. I hate to tell you, but you’ve already been … replaced. Sorry.’ He shifted awkwardly, unsure whether to sit closer to her or move a safe distance away.

  Nia tried to swallow the icing from her bun but it was stuck to the roof of her mouth. She forced it down with a sip of her drink but it was still too hot. She coughed, choked, and almost spat the lot out.

  ‘Are you OK? Sorry, sorry!’

  ‘Fine,’ she squeaked, brushing his hand away. She had tears in her eyes. She told herself it was because of all the coughing.

  ‘Don’t hate me, OK … but there’s always next year. You don’t have to do this? Just leave it for a while, let your dad settle down. He’ll definitely let you go next year and you can avoid all this?’

  Nia realised Sol wasn’t going to understand. How could he ask her to wait until next year? The moment was now. It was her solo, not Isa’s. She wasn’t going to let her, or her dad, take it from her. Her mum would have understood, if she was here. If she still had her mum, she’d be going on the Winter Tour. Her mum would probably have come with her! Sol could say what he liked, she wasn’t going to sit and wait and let it all pass her by. Life wasn’t long enough for waiting.

  Chapter Eleven

  The church was a sacred place, somewhere Nia felt compelled to be on her best behaviour, which was often a struggle. The gothic building was a spindly web of spires, rainbow-glass windows and the watery-blue outline of the large bell tower. As she walked past the grey stone font, the music reached a crescendo, vocals flying up into the high ceilings, bouncing off the stained-glass windows, filling the cold place with beauty and sound. Then silence fell as the choristers paused before starting their next song.

  Isa moved forwards and stood humbly, trying hard to look meek and mild centre stage as the organ played the opening chords of ‘May it Be’. This was her solo. Nia made herself look up and take in the arc of singers gathering around Isa, standing where she should be. Nia sat down in a dark side pew, hidden from sight. Sol hadn’t followed her in, sensing this was something she needed to do on her own. She was glad he was outside when Isa sang the first words, low, sweet and so soft.

  Isa’s pretty voice lifted up, replacing Nia so easily, so readily. As Isa sang, Nia knew it was over. She had been hoping for a last-minute reprieve, that someone would run forwards to her pew and take her by the arm and lead up her to the stage. She’d hoped her dad would magically appear or at least phone her and say how sorry he was, how wrong he’d been. But all this was nothing more than daydreams, wishful thinking.

  As she sat on the hard pew, the warm tears fell without warning onto her cold hands. The desire to push Isa off the stage, dunk her in the font, and take back her place was horribly strong.

  Nia walked determinedly up the aisle, leaving behind the haunting harmonising as her friends’ beautiful voices came together. She didn’t look back, telling herself it didn’t matter that her father had taken this away from her because she still had her voice. And no one was taking away that power. That was all she needed really: her voice and her mother’s guitar.

  Nia didn’t mention what had happened in the church and Sol didn’t bring up her plans. But they hadn’t spoken to each other for over an hour and Sol couldn’t take the silence anymore. ‘How many spoons you got left?’ he asked.

  ‘Only six. I’ve sold all the big ones now. Might as well take a break?’ Nia tried to sound casual but she was desperate. She pulled out her guitar case and returned to her position back in the entrance hall.

  She played ‘May it Be’ first, just to get it over with and out of her system. She played it to a different tempo, ensuring her voice was deeper than Isa’s: pitched in a lower key. This made it more her own than she’d ever managed in rehearsals. There was a good crowd; they didn’t just drop a coin in and leave, they seemed to want to say and listen. Nia smiled as she played the chorus again.

  Sol grinned as she played the opening chords of his song next. She’d been playing Green Day’s ‘Time of Your Life’ since he’d bought her the sheet music. It was hardly seasonal but always popular and made them both feel good. It was the only way she knew to smooth things over. The song was her way of saying all the things she couldn’t say to Sol.

  Nia liked the clapping and even the whistling or cheering that sometimes followed her playing but this wasn’t why she did it. This wasn’t why she played. When the clapping died down, she picked a Beatles song, one her dad always asked her mum to play on the piano. As she sang about the blackbird she watched the parents in the crowd look more at ease with this than Green Day. But something kept putting her off beat. There was an extra sound, something out of place and discordant.

  She looked up briefly, her eyes scanning the growing crowd, but couldn’t pick anything unusual out. She didn’t need to concentrate too much on the lyrics or the chords; it was like falling back into an old habit, playing music like this. She finished and thanked people for their coins as some of them left. Several small children moved towards the front as the crowd broke up, pushing their way forwards to get nearer. She smiled at them. It was time she decided, time to move away from all the easy numbers, covers and old favourites and take a risk.

  ‘I’m going to play something original now. This was written for me. I hope you like it,’ Nia announced nervously to the crowd, as an expectant silence fell. She bowed her head and touched her necklace for luck then hid her face in her long hair as she sang, accompanied by her mother’s guitar.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nia’s voice cracked open with feeling as she sang. Her mother had told her this All Hallows’ Eve tradition late one October night: that family members would gather at the gravesides of their dearly departed to sing songs to them. If the spirits were pleased they would visit the singer that night in their dreams. All Hallows’ Eve had long passed, but she knew her mother wouldn’t mind the wait. Nia hadn’t been ready then, but she was now. She closed her eyes and pictured herself sitting on the wooden floor watching her mother’s fingers running over the black and white piano keys, pausing, pencil in mouth, to make a change to the notes. And now as Nia sang the words to her song – Nia’s Song – she knew it had been worth the wait, worth practising in snatched moments, trying to recall the notes and the lyrics.

  I watch your shining eyes light my way home.

  And whatever is broken is mended by all of you.

  The evening of her mother’s funeral, after everyone had gone home – even Sol, Caleb and Hanna – her father had run upstairs. Nia followed him nervously, opening her parents’ bedroom door to find her father ripping the clothes from the hangers in her mother’s wardrobe. There was a multi-coloured heap on the floor which he gathered up and threw into the back of his truck. He ran out to the woodshed, returning seconds later with his axe. Nia begged him, pleaded with him, but he pushed her away before bringing the axe down on her mother’s piano, over and over and over. Her father flipped open the piano stool, took her mother’s music and shoved it into the log burner, watching it fold and crackle until all that was left were Nia’s memories.

  My soul will whisper secret notes for only you

  To catch and cradle.

  Later, when he disappeared into the night in his truck, Nia was left in the house alone. She seized the opportunity and grabbed her mother’s guitar, running with it all the way thro
ugh the woods to Sol’s house.

  My arms will push and pull you because

  Mine oh mine

  We two are one.

  Nia felt she’d picked the right moment to sing this song to her mother. She hoped she’d see her mother tonight in her dreams, the last night of the old year.

  The pieces of our sighs and smiles

  are tied with heartstrings and harmonies

  Which rise and fall like the air you breathe.

  Because

  Yours oh yours,

  We two are one.

  She searched for Sol, for his familiar listening eyes, but his phone was in front of his face, held up at a funny angle. And it was beeping. That was the sound that kept getting in the way, tinny and high pitched, interfering with the tune she needed to hold in her mind.

  ‘Damn it. Sorry, sorry! Battery’s about to die. Don’t stop, carry on, Nia.’

  He was filming her? She stopped singing. She couldn’t really see the crowd, but she could sense their questions, imagine their confusion, mirrored by Sol’s own.

  ‘Stop!’ she shouted at him. ‘You were filming me? For how long? Why? You can’t do that Sol, you know you can’t.’ Her voice strained.